Around Every Corner
by RegularShowFan1592
Summary: New York, 1945. Everyone's celebrating the recent end of World War II, but in the heart of the city, a series of brutal murders have arisen. Detectives Mordecai and Rigby are up to the task, but this case will become much more than they can handle. This is a collaboration between GearSolidSnake and I. AU, but same personalities. T for violence, mild cursing, and adult situations.
1. Prologue

**Author's Note**: Hey guys! GearSolidSnake and I have decided to work together on a story! Be prepared for an exciting tale of murder and intrigue! :D (We will alternate chapters, so I'm doing chapter 1, and he will do 2 and so on.)

**Chapter 1 Author: RegularShowFan1592**

**Edited by: GearSolidSnake**

It was a cold rainy night where we set our scene.

A man was on the run through an alleyway. The cops' footsteps could be heard in the distance, their pace seeming to have slowed down. He'd lost them, or so he thought.

Suddenly, the figure stumbled, knocking over a trashcan in the process, which made the officer shine his flashlight down the alley.

"I think he went down this way..." the officer whispered to his partner, careful not to alert their suspect, "Sneak around to the left and cut him off."

"He won't be able to escape then, Joe!" the rookie smirked, getting his first real taste of action.

"Alright, be careful Bill." he said, giving him a pat on the shoulder.

Both cops went down their designated paths. The man reached the end of the alley, completely trapped. He turned around, eyes darting for any type of escape.

They were closing in on him. When he was spotted, the officer put his light on him, gun pointed at his chest. "Don't move! You're surrounded! There's no way out!" Joe yelled.

In the corner of his eye, the suspect saw a narrow passage to his right. '_Surrounded? But there's-_', he looked to his left and saw the other cop through the heavy rain, '_Aw, crap!_'

"My partner said to not move! Don't try anything or we'll be forced to shoot!" Bill threatened.

_'I have not come all this way to be stopped by two rookies,'_ he thought, reaching into his coat. In the heat of the moment, Bill forgot to keep his flashlight raised.

Bill slowly walked towards the suspect, gun trained. Suddenly, the figure drew a handgun to his side and aimed it straight at Bill.

He pulled the trigger only to find an ominous _click_.

'_Wha-? What the hell is wrong with this thing?'_

Joe saw the revolver, "HEY! DROP YOUR WEAPON AND GET ON THE GROUND, NOW!"

In desperation the man quickly switched his gun to aim at Joe. A pull of the trigger was only met with the gun exploding in his hand.

"AGHHH!" the man screamed.

A thick plume of smoke flooded the alleyway. The man checked his hand: it was a bloody mess, but all his fingers were still intact, at least. With his temporary cover, the man found his exit.

Both cops ran at the suspect, guns drawn. When they met each other, the man was gone!

"Where the hell did he go?!" Bill asked. A hard, metal scraping along the wall pierced the silence, alerting the two upwards.

"Look! He's trying to make a run for it!" he said.

The man had climbed up onto the fire escape, hastily climbing each step. He looked down to the cops, filled with terror.

"Open fire!" Joe ordered.

The cops lit up the fire escape with bullets. One bullet hit the man in his leg, causing him to hobble up the rest of the steps in pain, eventually making it to the rooftops.

"Damn, this hurts! I've got to find somewhere to, ugh, hide!" he groaned.

"After him!" Joe commanded. Bill grabbed onto the ladder and started climbing only to have the top level burst into flames so he jumped back down in fear.

"Whoa! How did that catch fire?" Joe asked.

"I have no idea. Maybe he had something. But damn, we almost had him!" Bill grunted in frustration, brushing small patches of fire off his uniform.

"Back to the car, we can still catch him," Joe said.

Both cops ran back down the alley and got in their car. Joe piped through the two-way radio, "Suspect spotted on rooftops of East Street. Use extreme caution; subject is possibly still armed and highly dangerous. Boys... I think this fella is the one we've been looking for..."


	2. An Easy Case

**Author's Note: **Hey dudes! We're back with chapter 2! Let's see where the story goes from here! :)

**Chapter 2 Author: GearSolidSnake**

**Edited by: RegularShowFan1592**

* * *

**Three Months Earlier...**

A slender blue jay laid asleep in his new bedroom. Suddenly, his alarm clock went off, bells clanging.

Mordecai rose from his bed with a heavy groan, slamming his fist into the clock to silence it. He covered his eyes from the sun, as a small sliver of it peeked through the cracks in the blinds.

Margaret awoke from his noise and smirked at him, "Another rough night?"

Mordecai wiped his face before replying to his wife, "Yeah, well, it's better than I got overseas."

After the blue jay showered and prepared himself for work, Margaret met him at the door. She took the time to carefully fix his tie before pulling him in for a kiss.

"I love you so much, please be safe. I worry about you," she whispered.

Mordecai smiled and looked into her eyes. He held her chin with a finger and replied, "Relax, this is a walk in the park compared to the army. Don't you worry so much. I love you too honey."

She sighed and broke her hug on him, letting him pass by. "I hope so..." she said under her breath as he shut the door.

Mordecai stepped out of his apartment building to be greeted by the cacophony of sounds that was New York City. As usual, the streets were lined bumper-to-bumper with automobiles, with everyone shouting for a taxi or pushing past others on their way to work. Seemingly adding insult to injury, the nauseating smell of exhaust fumes, and the filthiness of it, filled the air.

Mordecai did not mind these "inconveniences." To him, these sounds meant he was home. Oh, how he missed New York.

* * *

Mordecai arrived at NYPD Headquarters on twenty-first street. Upon entering the building, he first had to check in at the desk in the lobby. He walked over to a cloud-shaped woman smoking a cigarette behind the desk, pulled out his .38 revolver, and placed it on the counter.

"Hello CJ, my you're looking wonderful as ever," Mordecai said to the secretary as he revealed his I.D.

CJ blew a whiff of smoke in his face before replying, "Flattery won't get you anywhere in this department."

"Oh, come on. Just trying to be friendly," he said, coughing from the smell.

"And I'm trying to refrain from putting you down to directing traffic. You're still new here, so don't say something stupid. Anyways, the chief wants to see you now."

Once he was cleared, Mordecai made his way upstairs, shuttering from the brief encounter. Stepping through the door marked "Commissioner," Mordecai came face to face with his boss, Benson, a gumball machine.

The police chief eyed his recent employee. "Well, if it isn't my newest detective," he said while holding a cigar between his fingers, "I've got your first case for you."

Mordecai felt nervous standing before his boss, "What is it, um, sir?"

"We've got a murder victim out on the north side of Central Park. Dispatchers already cleared the scene, we just need you and your partner to investigate. This is a minor case so I'm leaving it up to you two. And for your employment's sake, don't screw it up!" he said, raising his voice.

Mordecai flinched at the sudden outburst by Benson, but stood at attention, "You've got it, sir!"

Benson took a drag on his cigar, getting back to his work, "Good. Now get going..."

When Mordecai stepped outside, he bumped into an officer. The young man, a goat, couldn't of been more than twenty years old. The goat stumbled, causing papers to fly around the two.

Mordecai backed up from him, "You alright buddy? Sorry about that, kid."

The officer quickly reached to the ground for the papers. Oddly enough, his eyes were bloodshot and he looked exhausted.

"N-no, it's my fault. I'm so sorry!"

Mordecai caught wind of the man's nervousness, "You must be new here."

"Yes, sorry. It's still my first few days. Again, sorry."

Mordecai chuckled, "You don't have to be nervous. I'm new here too and I'm not one to judge."

The other officer relaxed, "Oh, okay...Anyways, my name's Thomas, but you can call me Tom for short."

Mordecai shook his hand, "Hello Tom, my name is Mordecai. I would like to stay and chat, but I've got to head out. It was nice meeting you."

Thomas continued shuffling his papers into a stack, "Nice meeting you too."

"By the way, don't be apologizing so much. It'll make you seem weak in the knees."

"Oh... sorry, Mr. Mordecai, um, sir."

* * *

Trapped in the bustling traffic of New York, Mordecai sat with his partner, Rigby, in their unmarked black and silver police car.

"Oh come on, this is taking forever," Rigby groaned at the traffic.

"Complaining won't get you anywhere," Mordecai replied. He looked over to his friend, "You look beat. Is something the matter?"

Rigby's eyes hazily looked over, completely drained of energy. "Yeah, just another problem at home. Don't want to talk too much about it."

Rigby wasn't as, well, financially stable as his partner. He wasn't married, but he did have a charming girlfriend named Eileen. From what Mordecai gathered, she was a nice gal. However, the two always seemed to be fighting. They were forced to move in together due to money problems. Rigby hoped this stint in the police force would be able to provide a better life for him and Eileen, as this was a well paying job after all.

"I hear ya. Although, I'm more nervous about this whole thing." Mordecai said, starting at the cars ahead.

"What 'thing'?"

Mordecai explained, "Well, this is our first case as detectives. I'm not really sure if I'm up for it."

Rigby was able to make a smile, "Come on, it's not that bad. You had the higher grades during our shooting range tests, getting practice killing those Nazis and all, so I'm sure you'll do fine. It'll be a quick case, trust me. I'm your pal."

_**HONK!**_

The cars were stockpiled behind a green Chrysler that refused to continue through the intersection, despite the green light. "What the hell, people?!" Mordecai groaned. He was getting impatient, so he rolled down his window and stuck his head out, "HEY MACK, GET THE LEAD OUT!"

"Ha, I thought screaming got you nothing." Rigby smirked.

"Oh, shut up." Mordecai sighed.

* * *

The duo made their way through Central Park. The scene had been surrounded with wooden police barricades. Despite attempts from local officers, there were crowds of people spectating the scene, all wondering what had happened. The wretched smell of blood welcomed the two, seeming cynically to say _"Welcome to the Big Leagues." _When they arrived to the scene, they saw the bloodied body of a man in his thirties lying near a tree on his back. Rigby made a quick recoil in shock as did Mordecai. They prepare you constantly for this sort of thing, but an actual body of a once living, breathing, human being is much different than a dummy with fake wounds.

"So, what's the situation?" Rigby asked one of the blue-uniformed cops.

"We got a call at about two in the morning. We think the time of death was two hours before then, around midnight. All we know is his name: Roger Teler."

Mordecai crouched over the victim. A bloody hole sat in the center of his chest. "Gunshot wound," Mordecai muttered.

"Obviously," one of the more pessimistic cops retorted.

Mordecai let this go. The wound was around the lower half of the chest. Punctured upper liver, and possibly the right lung. Mordecai observed the the man's mouth to find it coated in blood. He'd been coughing up blood, definitely a lung shot, but it didn't appear right then and there. He still had a few minutes to live.

Mordecai also noticed a few back molars missing in the man's mouth. "He's missing a couple of teeth," he said aloud.

Rigby had spotted the blood coated teeth laying nearby. "Here," he said, picking up a tooth with a glove and showing it to Mordecai, "They're kind of cracked. Did he die immediately?"

"No, so I'm guessing he struggled with the murderer before he slipped under. Maybe he fought before getting shot?" Mordecai replied.

He rotated to the man's hand. Looking it over, Mordecai saw that his knuckles were bruised and there were minor lacerations, which meant there were definitely signs of resistance.

Rigby spoke, "There's no bullet casing that I'm seeing. There aren't any other blood trails on the ground apart from where he is so he must've been shot right where he died. So if it wasn't instant, why did he just stay in that same spot?"

"I think the killer panicked when he didn't die immediately. Since this fella didn't go very far, the killer must have been right next to him. I think they argued before hand." Mordecai opened the man's suit coat and found his wallet. The money was still inside. "His wallet's here, so it wasn't a mugging. Someone must have planned this...or targeted him."

Rigby was surprised at how quickly Mordecai was piecing this together.

"Well, since we don't have a casing, we'll have to wait until after he's been glossed over by the boy's back at the station to see what kind of bullet it was."

Rigby added, "Do we know where this guy worked? Any family we could contact?"

Mordecai inspected his wallet further: driver's license, a picture of him with his wife and son, and an American Bank employee card. "This guy's a banker. It might have something to do with his work."

Rigby spoke, "But here's the bigger question: what on earth was this guy doing in Central Park at midnight? Was he kidnapped? Did he plan to meet someone here?"

"I don't know," Mordecai answered as he rose from the corpse. "I think we should check out his office. Maybe talk to people that worked with him."

As they walked towards their car, Rigby chimed in, "See Mordecai? I told you there was nothing to worry about!"

Mordecai got in and shut the door, "Well, we haven't solved this yet Rigby. Let's just see if we can find any leads."

Rigby smiled, "I think this case is going to be a breeze..."

* * *

**It's too early for speculation, but what do you guys think happened with the crime?**

**A Note From ****GearSolidSnake**: Before we get flak or objections: No, this is not a copy of _L.A. Noire_. Though it is a 1940's detective game, we are trying not to outright copy cases and events. This will be our own story with our own original twists.


	3. Making A Withdrawal

**RegularShowFan1592's ****Author's Note: **Hi readers! We're here with chapter 3! Let's see how Mordecai and Rigby will handle their first case! Enjoy! :D

**Chapter 3 Author: RegularShowFan1592**

**Edited by: GearSolidSnake**

* * *

**An hour later...**

To Rigby's disappointment, lunch would have to wait. After recording their findings from the scene, they pulled up to the front of a medium-sized brick building, boldly labeled on the doorway, "The First National Bank of NYC". Mordecai and Rigby walked inside. A female receptionist peered up from the front desk, to which the detectives flashed their wallets with their names and golden badges attached.

"NYPD, we have a few questions to ask you," Mordecai spoke first.

"What can I help you gentlemen with today?" she asked with a bubbly disposition.

Mordecai felt a little suspicious of her cheery attitude in front of two cops. He looked her over, top to bottom, for any signs of her hiding something. Brushing it off, he cleared his throat, "Ma'am, we're looking for leads on a case involving a 'Roger Teler'. We were hoping you could allow us to search his office and possibly tell us about him?"

The woman look confused, "Oh, now what would you want with a sweet man like Roger? Well, I don't know what luck you fine folks will have; he's not here today. Is there something about him that-"

"He's dead. He got shot over in Central Park last night," Rigby interrupted.

She gasped, "Wh-what? Oh my..." She drew her hand to her mouth in shock. The secretary began to cry as make-up-stained tears rolled down her cheeks.

Mordecai didn't really know how to react to her tearful response. This was the first time he'd been in a situation like this. Hesitantly, he stuttered, "I-I'm sorry, ma'am. I know that must be hard to hear, but do you know where Mr. Teler's office is? We have a search warrant and-"

Without a word, she complied and reached into her desk drawer, retrieving a small key. The number on the key was marked, "115, R. Teler."

"Thank you, miss." Mordecai smiled, taking the key. "Come along, Rigby." he said sternly, pulling him past the woman.

"Jeez... That was rough..." Rigby remarked.

Mordecai quickly turned and punched his partner square in the arm. "Agh! What was that for?!" Rigby grimaced, clenching his arm.

"What the hell was that back there? You couldn't have been a little more subtle?" Mordecai asked roughly.

Rigby simply muttered insults under his breath and continued walking.

Mordecai glanced over at his partner and noticed his shoulder start to faintly bleed where he'd punched it.

_'Huh? That's strange...'_ he thought, but didn't mention it.

They headed down the hallway, looking for the victim's office. They came to a door marked, "115: Roger Teler, President".

"This guy was the president of the bank? Who would kill such an important man?" Rigby asked.

Mordecai shrugged his shoulders, "If I had to guess, it was work related? Maybe an angry employee? Anyways, let's go in and look for clues."

After opening the door with the key, Mordecai and Rigby entered the office. Inside was a grand, oak desk, a few chairs, an old filing cabinet, and a coat rack just inside the door. Instantly, the two set to work searching for any type of suspicious documents.

Rigby quickly filed through the documents in the cabinet. "Nothing but boring bank stuff in here: deposits, accounts, pay checks; the usual," he sighed in a bored fashion.

Mordecai found some pretty bland stuff in the desk as well. Business letters and pay rates were spread all over the top of the oak desk.

Oddly enough, there was a resignation letter amongst the pile. "Hey, come take a look at this." Mordecai commanded.

Rigby came over from the cabinet. "So? What am I looking at, Mordecai?" he asked.

"It's a resignation letter. The date he wrote on here was for yesterday! But why would a guy in his thirty's with a stable job suddenly quit? It wouldn't make sense, Rigby."

Rigby shrugged, "I dunno. Maybe he wanted to be with his family more?"

Mordecai pondered that, "Possibly, but I doubt it. I'm thinking someone made him do this. Blackmail, if you will."

"You're saying someone forced him to quit his job and then he was shot in Central Park in the same week? How would they be connected?" Rigby asked.

Mordecai stood up and began pacing back and forth. "Force him to quit, kill him so he can't come back to his job even if he tried, then, don't make them _appear_ connected. To tie up loose ends at his job, show proof to the co-workers he was quitting by cleaning out the office. Lastly, they promote the vice president to fill his place, no questions asked. He was supposed to quit, but he didn't. Now why is that, I wonder?"

He sat back down in the chair and stared off into space in thought, "Maybe Roger decided he wanted to stay, or maybe he wanted out of whatever deal this was? In addition, the thing the killer messed up was, ironically, the most important part: the actual murder. It appeared very amateurish."

Rigby stood there dumbfounded, "Wow, how'd you figure that out so fast?"

"Like Sherlock Holmes once uttered, 'Elementary, my dear Rigby.'" he chuckled.

"Oh...wait a second, are you saying I'm stupid?!"

"No. I'm just smarter than you, pal."

Rigby groaned, "Alright crazy, let's just get back to searching."

Once again, Mordecai inspected the lower cabinets of the desk and happened to spot a folder.

His eyes bulged, _'Hang on, what's this?'_. It read _"_**Confidential**_"_ across the front in red print.

Inside, Mordecai found a scribbled piece of paper reading, "**Midnight. Central Park. The usual spot**_."_ Beneath that was a smaller, single torn strip of paper with the name, _"_**Harry O'Brian**." He also found, what he could honestly describe as nothing more than a "ghost account." There was not a single shred of info on the document that linked it to any source. There was no name, address, account number or even an amount! There was just a bunch of withdrawals from an unknown source. With little knowledge of anything bank-related, Mordecai didn't know what to think of this evidence.

He placed the folder and all its contents into his suit coat. "Alright," Mordecai spoke, breaking the silence, "I think we have everything we could find in here. But just to be safe, let's ask around before heading back to the station."

Rigby sighed aloud as they left. It didn't seem like they were getting anywhere. They started walking back to the lobby, but saw the shadow of a man off to the side in an adjacent room. Rigby came into the room and flipped the light switch up.

"Hey pal, you-"

The man twirled around, "WHAT THE HELL DO YA WANT?" he yelled, showing a heavy Brooklyn accent.

Mordecai's eyes widened and he put his hands up in defense, "Whoa! Sorry for scaring you sir. We're detectives investigating a murder involving Mr. Teler. We were just wondering if you happened to know anything about him."

"Gee, I don't know. I guess if ya idiots saw my name-tag and cleaning equipment, you'd be thinking, 'Oh it's the janitor, he must know everything under the stinkin' sun!' Well I don't, so buzz off!" he spat in their direction.

Mordecai glanced over at Rigby with a raised brow in confusion, then back to the man, "Sir, it was dark and your back was turned. How could we have seen your equipment or your name-tag?"

"I-I don't know! Why are youse invading my space?!" he shouted, scratching his bald head and giving them a very disturbed look.

"We just entered the room. Now please, relax. Just answer some questions..." Mordecai ordered, moving slowly towards him.

"No! I won't say noddin' without a lawyer!" With that remark, the janitor quickly pushed past the duo and left in a hurry.

Rigby said sarcastically as he walked away, "Thank you for your cooperation, _sir_."

They left the room and stopped in front of the president's door.

"Geez! That was one 'funny' fella." Rigby sighed.

"Yeah, makes you wonder how he got to be a janitor in a place like this." Mordecai agreed.

Mordecai suddenly had a thought, '_Hold on, who's that Harry guy? Maybe that gal up front knows something? I don't think she's told us everything...'_

He and Rigby walked back down the hall at a brisk pace. At the lobby, Mordecai coughed loudly, grabbing the receptionist's attention.

"Haven't you done enough, officer?" she asked, dirty eyeliner stains still on her face.

"Ma'am, do you know a man by the name of Harry O'Brian?"

Her eyes widened, "No? Why-why do you ask?"

Rigby was growing angrier. This was only the first case and the only leads weren't cooperating. With narrowed eyes and a bitter voice, Rigby demanded, "Look lady, I'm tired, my partner is impatient and we don't have time for twenty questions. You and I want to avoid making a scene, so just tell my partner who he his, please."

She let out more tears, hiding her face.

"Ma'am!" Rigby demanded.

Finally, she replied in a sorrowful tone of surrender, "Fine! He-he's the Vice President of the company... and my boyfriend."

Mordecai glared at Rigby before smiling at the lady, "Thank you. Now, do you know how he's involved with Mr. Teler?"

She darted her eyes across the room in a scared fashion. Her lips started to quiver in fear. She moved closer to him, putting her voice to barely a whisper, "I-I can't tell you what he's doing with Mr. Teler. The only thing I'll say, though, is that he has a _very_ short fuse. He is not a man you want to cross."

Mordecai tipped his hat politely, "Thanks for the info Miss...?"

"Dawkins. Elizabeth Dawkins. Everyone calls me Eliza, though."

He turned and left for his car, stopping halfway through the front door, "Good day, Eliza."

**_CRASH!_**

Mordecai and Rigby turned around instantly at the loud bangs from deeper inside the bank. Without a word between the two, they came to the conclusion that it had to be coming from...the office!

Rigby sprinted ahead with Mordecai jogging behind. The door to Mr. Teler's office stood eerily ajar. The duo stepped slowly into the room. Inside, every drawer of the desk was violently ripped out. Papers were strewn across the floor. The cabinet was toppled over, resting on its side.

Rigby spoke, "What do you think they were looking for?"

Mordecai clenched the file inside his coat, "I don't know, but I don't think they found it."

With nothing left for them at the bank, the two made their way outside to the car with Mordecai starting the engine.

Rigby asked from the passenger seat, "What now?"

"I'll tell you on the way." he answered.

"The way to where?"

"Roger's house."

Rigby looked down to his growling stomach, "Well, can we _please_ stop for lunch first? I'm starving!"

* * *

**30 minutes later...**

They arrived at Roger's home. Mordecai pulled up into the driveway, but could only pull up halfway, as the green Chrysler they dealt with earlier was parked ahead.

"Isn't that the car we were stuck behind during the traffic jam this morning?" Rigby asked.

Mordecai sighed, "Yep. I have a bad feeling about this...have your gun ready."

They sprinted over to the front door. Rigby tried to peek through the front windows, but couldn't see past the drapes.

"You see anything?" Mordecai asked.

Rigby shook his head, "No. Can you get in the door?"

Mordecai opened the screen door, then attempted to turn the door handle, but it felt stuck.

"Damn it! Why can't we just have it easy for once?" he groaned.

Rigby's tail perked up as he got an idea. "Hey, I'm gonna go around the side, see if there's another way in..." he whispered.

"Alright, whistle to let me know if you do. And don't go in guns blazing like during training." he smirked.

"Don't worry, I'll be fine." he smiled.

Rigby went around the right side of the house and sure enough, he found a half-way opened windowsill. He gave Mordecai the signal and the avian joined him at the side. The window was too small for Mordecai to fit, so he picked Rigby up.

"Hey! What are you-"

Mordecai responded by lifting him up higher, "Shut it, Rigby. I'll lift you into the house. Then you open the front door, got it?"

Rigby understood, giving him an "OK" hand sign.

Mordecai put him on the window's edge, watching Rigby clumsily fall into the room.

"OW!" he heard him moan. Mordecai then walked back over to the front door, impatiently waiting for Rigby to unlock it.

A minute later, Rigby opened the door, holding a glass of milk in one hand and his gun in the other.

Mordecai slapped his forehead in pure annoyance, "Really? You got milk from a dead man's house?" he hissed.

Rigby crossed his arms, "What? I was thirsty!"

"Just put the glass in the sink, we don't need you messing up our first case." he ordered, pointing to the kitchen.

Rigby did as he was told, when he suddenly heard a mumbling in the distance.

He walked back over to Mordecai, "Did you hear what sounded like someone talking?"

"No? Where is it coming from?"

"In the back room, I think."

The guys moved in slowly. They crept along the wall until they actually heard a voice behind the shut door halfway down the hall. Mordecai put a finger to his beak, then as quietly as he could, slowly turned the knob. When he cracked the door, he peered in, seeing a well-built man wearing a jacket and a bowler hat. He was looking through some files and boxes. Cabinets were all pulled open, papers strewn about like a miniature tornado had occurred. The man was muttering to himself with what sounded like an Irish accent.

"No, that's not it. I already looked heah', damn it! Why can't I bloodeh' find it?!" he shouted in anger, pushing even more papers to the floor.

Mordecai motioned for Rigby to sneak in first. Rigby tiptoed in and, thanks to being vertically-challenged, was able to hide behind a box. He darted from boxes to cabinets, all the while getting closer to the figure focused on the papers. He eventually reached his target, gun drawn. He was a few inches next to him and held his .38 up to the man's back.

"Hey buddy, stop whatever you're doing and slowly turn around." he ordered.

The man raised his hands up as if to give himself up and did as he was asked. The man took one look at Rigby and busted out laughing. "Jesus, Mary and Joseph, are you kiddin' me?"

Rigby was completely confused, and quite offended, "Don't try anything! I'm an officer of the law!"

"You're a little on the short side ain't ya, laddy?" he grinned.

Rigby began sweating with anger, "Shut up! What the hell are you doing in here?!"

He smirked, "I don't have ta' be answering ta' anything. I've got the fiff' on my side. You need ta' brush up on thos' amendments, copper."

Mordecai came around the corner, gun also drawn, "Well in that case, breaking and entering is a start. You do realize whose house you're in, right?"

"Oh great, 'nother fascist pig. I don' care if the laddy's dead or not!" he grinned.

"I never said anything about someone being dead," Mordecai claimed, "Cuff him, Rigby. I have you covered if he tries anything funny."

Harry could only laugh as Rigby, who stood on top of a box, angrily hand-cuffed the smug Irish man.

"Harry O'Brian, you are under arrest for breaking and entering, as well as being under suspicion for the murder of Roger Teler," Rigby said confidently. Mordecai nodded at his friend.

Harry just smiled, as if he'd been through this before. "Yeah, yeah, I know the drill. Take me away, lads!"

* * *

**GearSolidSnake Author's Note:** And no, we didn't forget to put in the Miranda Rights ("You have the right to remain silent..."). Those weren't required by cops under federal law until the court case _Miranda vs. US (1966)._


End file.
